


||

by bauer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, as a result of the first two tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9693755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...





	

**Author's Note:**

> so i got pounded by two blizzards this weekend, and, well, [this happened.](http://werenskiz.tumblr.com/post/156677026958/dare-013117)
> 
> the recreational drug in question is cocaine, in case that wasn't clear. let me know if i need any other tags. enjoy!

Look, Mitch thinks he’s a decent looking dude, alright? He’s not Swedish or ginger or _big_ , like some of his teammates, but overall he’s a solid seven. A seven who’s having a great season, he might add, so really, his stock should be pretty high. Not that anyone at this bar seems to be buying into it. After the third girl excuses herself with an unimpressed look and a flimsy excuse, Mitch slinks back to where Auston’s sitting, only to find him ready to seal the deal with his girl. He’s not going to want to go anywhere else. _Fuck_.

Mitch flops onto the booth next to Auston, not close enough to interfere, and pulls out his phone. He sends out some texts, flips through Tinder, basically holds up a neon sign saying _SOMEONE ENTERTAIN ME!_ Most of the people he knows are either within a hundred feet of him or over a hundred miles away from him, though, so he’s still surprised when he gets a response from Matt almost immediately: **Some people are chilling at my place, if you’re that bored.**

“I’m going over to Matt’s,” Mitch announces immediately to the back of Auston’s head, before sliding back out of the booth. The air outside is cold, biting, but he’s only in it for a minute before the Uber rolls up.

Walking into the apartment reminds Mitch of the UWO parties he’d sneak into as a rookie in London. They were never as wild as movies made them out to be, always smelled vaguely like a locker room, atmosphere made endlessly awkward by the sea of fumbling seductions. Matt’s apartment didn’t have any of that—lights turned low, people talking in groups, laughing, indie music playing in the background—but Mitch still feels young and out of place when he first walks in. He’s not a kid anymore but he’s not _grown_ , either. Like, what is he supposed to do if he goes up to one of these people and they say they’re a banker? How’s he supposed to respond to that? He doesn’t know shit about banking, besides what the financial adviser his parents made him get told him.

So, he does the same thing he did back then: clings to the first vet he sees.

Matt is crammed onto his couch with two blondes, torso bent over the coffee table. Mitch’s greeting dies on his lips when Matt leans back, and Mitch sees the small pile of white sitting in front of him. The hesitation gives Matt time to see him first, smile stretched wide, and say, “Mitch, glad you could join us.”

One of the blondes says, “Aw, Matty, he’s a baby,” and Mitch flushes.

“He’s fine,” Matt says, and to Mitch, “You got here quick.”

Mitch lifts a shoulder, drops it. “Driver really wanted that five-star review, I guess.”

His eyes cut back to the coffee table, the dusting of soft powder, the tightly coiled bill twirling between Blondie’s fingers. If Mitch is interrupting, they don’t seem to mind. In fact, she asks, “Do you want some?”

Before he even makes a decision, Mitch can feel his head jerk _yes_. They both look at Matt after, for approval, and Mitch tries not to fidget under his gaze. “Sure,” Matt says, eventually. “You still go next, he can have whatever’s leftover.”

The couch is too full, so Mitch gets on his knees next to the table, tries not to think too much about it. Introductions are made—the woman closer to Mitch is Tami, farther is Jo—as they watch Matt divvy up what’s left of the coke, lines most of it up for Tami. Mitch would make a joke about fractions if his tongue wasn’t caught in his throat.

Tami snorts it up quickly, almost elegantly, and then it’s Mitch’s turn. He takes possession of the bill—a fiver, of all things—but Matt still lines him up. It ends up being two, maybe as long as his pinky and a fraction of the width. Mitch glances up at Matt, who only raises an eyebrow, before leaning forward. If he hesitates, he covers it with motion, trying to replicate Tami’s posture. Then he bends over and inhales roughly once, then twice, before he can think about it.

He flops back down on his heels, unwinds the fiver, watches Matt catch some of the extra on his finger. “Open your mouth,” he says, and Mitch does. Matt is quick, proficient, as he sticks his finger in Mitch’s mouth, rubs it over his teeth, the tip of his tongue. Then he leans back, taking his hand with him.

Behind Matt, Tami has found her way into Jo’s lap, so, that’s a thing.

Mitch tears his eyes away from them and rubs absently at his nose. It hadn’t been as irritating as he expected. Matt is still watching him, and it makes Mitch drop his hand, before saying, “I don’t really feel anything.” There is something, in his face and fingertips and chest, but he’s half convinced he’s imagining it.

That gets a tug at the cheek, before Matt says, “Give it a few, you will. Or maybe not, if this is your first time.”

Before Mitch can respond, he’s pulled up by his armpits, a familiar voice behind him saying, “Stop hogging the rookie, Marty,” and then to Mitch, “Come on, there are some people I want you to meet.”

Naz steers Mitch towards the kitchen, deposits him at the island, then goes further ahead, leaving Mitch surrounded by very beautiful people conversing and pouring themselves drinks. He doesn’t know anyone, can barely understand what they’re talking about, so he picks up a beer, mostly to have something to do with his hands. The beer is almost immediately confiscated and replaced with a plastic cup half-filled with water.

“I’m not thirsty,” Mitch says.

“Uh huh,” Naz says. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Mitch says, swallowing, then grimacing at the taste. He tries washing it away with the water and gets caught up with the barely-there feel of it against his mouth. Running a hand over his face is more of the same. “Really good, actually.”

The nerves from earlier evaporate in a puff of smoke. Toronto’s the place to be, and Mitch loves being from here, staying here, in a city with these people. Conversation flows long and easy; Mitch doesn’t know how Matt knows these people, but they’re all fucking amazing. One of the guys, Paul, is a venture capitalist who retired at, like, thirty and spends all his time courtside now, and Jesse literally cures cancer, and Izzie has _touched_ Monet paintings. With her hands. By permission.

“That’s so fucking amazing,” Mitch tells her, as he watches her pour another drink. Izzie smiles and says something about how she’s _really_ excited about the Gauguins, and then it occurs to Mitch that he has no clue who or what a Gauguin is. When she stops talking, Mitch isn’t going to have anything to say about—what’d she call them? Impressionists? Mitch doesn’t know shit about art.

The thought sends a spike of anxiety through him. He fiddles with the cup he’s still holding for some reason, then looks around. The only person around he really knows is Naz, and he’s talking to some girl. Mitch doesn’t want to interrupt. Doesn’t want to much of anything, really, except—

Mitch excuses himself from the conversation and ducks back into the livingroom. The couch has been abandoned and occupied by a new set of strangers, but it’s Matt’s house, so Mitch doesn’t feel out of line asking if they’d seen him. He gets waved towards the dining room, where a group of people have started up a poker game. Matt is among them, nursing the beer that Mitch wasn’t allowed. He’s chirping but his chips are low, so Mitch interrupts, leaning in close to ask, “Do you have any more?”

It takes a second for Matt to turn, look him up and down, then turn back away. Mitch feels stupid again, but he doesn’t know how public they’re supposed to be about this, if there are people here who shouldn’t hear about it. He’s not left wondering for long, though, because in Matt’s next turns, he goes full in, then folds. He waves off the rest of the table’s ribbing, and tosses an arm around Mitch’s shoulder, leads him down the hall to his bedroom. He locks the door behind them, too, and Mitch feels vindicated in his earlier caution.

Once they're inside the room, Mitch stands awkwardly in the middle of the room as Matt turns on a lamp, then pulls out another white bag and a proper razor out from his bedside table. Neither of them say anything as Matt dumps out a decent-sized chunk onto the glass, starts cutting it. He sets up a couple lines for himself first, then glances up and jerks his head for Mitch to come closer.

After a moment of deliberation, Mitch kneels next to the table again. He picks up what might be a hollowed out mini-pen, considers the few white scratches, then bows his head. When he leans back, prodding at his face, sniffling unattractively, Matt works on catching the extra on his fingers again. This time, he doesn’t even need to say anything to Mitch for him to open his mouth, stick out his tongue a little.

Matt is quieter like this, the opposite of Mitch.

When Matt’s fingers stay in his mouth, calloused and heavy on his tongue, Mitch doesn’t draw back, even as the numbness hits and excitement bubbles up. A rough finger curls deeper, and Mitch glances up at Matt’s face, trying to read what the next move is. It’s still a surprise when his face curls, hisses out a, “ _Fuck_ , look at you.”

After that, things happen quickly. Matt withdraws his fingers, only to grip onto Mitch’s jaw. The rustling of his pants barely registers before Matt has his cock in Mitch’s face, stroking it to full hardness. Mitch stares at the bright pinkness of the head, doesn’t even think of closing his mouth as Matt slaps the corner of it a few times before sliding home.

Mitch’s heart is racing, and his head, his mouth, feels stuffed. He wouldn’t have thought that he’d be able to feel Matt in the back of his throat but he can, is already coughing around him. Matt twists his other hand in Mitch’s hair and pulls him closer, holding Mitch still for his cock. The sound of it, Mitch’s spit, Matt’s breathing, makes him so hot he can’t think. Mitch just _needs_ ,  so he gropes at Matt’s calves, his thighs, up under his shirt to feel his abs tense as he fucks into Mitch.

“Slut,” Matt grunts. “You want it?” He doesn’t let up enough for Mitch to respond, so he just looks up at him, moans, squeezes his sides.

It gets him pushed off of Matt’s dick, then pulled up onto the bed, on his stomach. Matt yanks off his jeans, slaps his ass, then backs off to rummage around in his end table again. By the time Mitch gets his shirt off, Matt is back, holding Mitch open and pressing a cool finger in. Mitch moans, and says, “C’mon, I want you, want your cock in me.”

The finger’s withdrawn, and replaced with something much thicker. It’s a struggle, edging it inside of Mitch, and Matt doesn’t wait for him to adjust before he starts slamming in. Mitch can’t stop making noise, feels like he’s cracking open but but it’s so fucking _amazing,_ like this is the best sex he’s ever had. Matt keeps pushing him, further onto the bed, into the mattress, leaving bruises, and there’s nothing Mitch can do but take it. Fuck, he loves it, feels like they could do this forever.

It’s a shock when Matt pulls out, but it’s only to flip Mitch over. Then he’s holding Mitch open again, fucks right back in. Mitch watches Matt, but Matt’s eyes are on where Mitch is stretched around him. The image makes his toes curl, and he reaches down to finally touch himself—

“Oh, Jesus,” Mitch says, grabbing onto his soft dick.

“Don’t worry, it happens,” Matt grunts, eyes finally glancing up. His gaze land below Mitch’s face, and then he’s hunching over, biting at Mitch’s collarbone, his pecs, bruising him up some more.

Any other time Mitch is sure he’d be humiliated, but he still feels so good that he doesn’t think about it. His dick still feels wet in his hand still, and Mitch is practically delirious at the thought of Matt fucking it out of him anyway when it actually happens, spurts of come hitting his hand without him ever getting hard. Matt must feel it, too, because he groans, fucks in harder, starting to lose his rhythm. Mitch is so sensitive he’s twitching, this close to needing to get _away_ , when Matt finally tenses and comes with a few last stuttered thrusts.

He crashes hard, after, barely getting the condom off before he collapses fully onto Mitch. They’re disgusting, various body fluids pressed between them, and Mitch loves it. He runs his hands over Matt’s strong back, breathing in against his neck.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Matt’s sleeping dead weight gets to be too much. Mitch shoves him off, slides out of the bed. He’s coming down again, and the soreness that has only started settling in is losing its charm quick. It doesn’t take long to find his clothes again, less to put them on.

The coke is still out of the table. Mitch stares at it for a moment, then figures Matt wouldn’t miss one more line.

Outside, the party doesn’t appear to be suffering from its host’s absence. It’s probably for the best; no one’s probably noticed that they snuck off.

Mitch is just about ready to get smug about that when he runs—literally, smacks right up against him—into Auston, who grabs his arm and says, “Dude, why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Hello to you, too,” Mitch snarks, pulling out his phone. It’’s blowing up a bit, from a lot of new numbers but a few from Auston, too.

 

> _I can't feel my face when I'm with u but I loove it but I looooove it ohhhhh_
> 
> _Can’t remember any more words fuck haha_
> 
> _We should go see him next time he has a show that’d be sick_
> 
> _He’s from here he’s GOTTA have a show soon_
> 
>  
> 
> **You good?**
> 
> **You’re at Matt’s, right? I’m coming over. Let me in when I get there**
> 
> **Here**
> 
> **Mitch**
> 
> **MITCHELL**
> 
> **Don’t worry Jake is a good friend and teammate**

 

“Fuck, sorry, dude, I totally wasn’t paying attention. How long was I gone for?” Mitch says. It’s felt like a lifetime.

“I don’t know, an hour? Hour and a half?” Auston says. Then he squints at Mitch, with that concerned look he gets. “Are you alright? You’re looking a little buggy.”

“I’ve never been better,” Mitch responds, and it’s the truth. He smiles big and says, “Hey, you wanna go somewhere? I know you just arrived, but I want to _do_ something.”

Auston hesitates for a long few seconds, over what Mitch can’t imagine, but then he says, “Sure, let’s get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my porn tumblr ft. extra tidbits](http://ratbarnaby.tumblr.com)


End file.
